Helen and June
by Frenesi.Z
Summary: What if Helen Magnus hadn't discovered the sapphic side of love with Amelia Earheart but someone in the same time and place as Earheart?  inspired by a throw away from the commentary considering what Magnus might have got up to in that long life of hers.
1. Prolouge

This little gem germinated after listening to an ep. commentary were Tapping jokingly alluded that Magnus and Amelia Earheart might have indulged in a little sapphic dalliance as Magnus arm and arm with Earheart was the picture in the credit sequence in season two. And that got me thinking: what kind of a woman might entice Magnus into her bed and what that might look like. And, as much as name dropping is fun - what if it wasn't Earheart but some one in the same time and place as Earheart?

Remember, this is written before season 3 aired and more cannon was filled in on the five; way before we found out the five were together casing after Adam in the fifties.

Also: I don't speak french. I used babel fish so I'm sure the line or two of french I dropped in are incorrect but I figured the lines were straight forward enough we can all infer what's being said. If you do speak french and are kind enough to correct me I'll happily fix it.

I could add notes upon notes but to sum up this is meant to be a slow piece that unfolds in layers as it dips into Helen's memory. I drop a lot of markers and don't let out the date until the end but it is meant to take place in 1931 and '32 and someone kindly pointed out she wished she had that upfront instead of slogging thru trying to put together what-ever-in-h it was i'd throw up now ;)


	2. Helen and June

Disclaimer: Sanctuary's not mine but I really love it. I really hope they keep up the caliber and ambition they started with - from web-isodes thru to seasons … 5? 6? may it run as long as it's meant to :)! I did make June and her milieu as well as what Helen is eating for lunch.

Takes place any where after Eulogy and before Veritas.

"You could just microwave it" Will spoke up, walking into the kitchen, startling Helen. Will held back an amused smile but some must have shown thru judging by the look of ire Helen was currently delivering him.

Helen poked the skillet with a wooden spoon as Will wandered closer, appreciating the aroma raising up as what ever inside was heating, peaking over her shoulder as he passed to the fridge and pulled out the left overs from his dinner the previous night.

Helen looked at him evenly "Not a proper thing to do to food", stirring the insides of the skillet. She looked to see what Will was pulling out and he flashed his mac and cheese at her with a grin, shoving it in the microwave and hitting a single button, the microwave coming to life with a light and a whir. "Not that that is proper food" Helen added.

"So what is it you're whipping up?" Will asked, leaning a hip against the counter, watching Helen, "Or reheating" he amended.

Helen was rarely in the kitchen. In fact, she ate little, usually small light things that Biggie was continually preparing for her, delicious if a bit peasant. He remembered she and Ashley assembling the Moroccan feast that the Mother and Daughter had decided to throw together on a whim one night - and that was the last he'd seen her in the kitchen, come to think of it. Will had quickly picked up that the household tended to live by their own independent schedules, and Will ate as often alone as he did with Henry, late at night, pillaging the pantry.

"Snow peas and mushrooms" Helen answered back, the bamboo spoon turning over a scoop and mixing.

Will glanced into the pan again: a variety of mushrooms were chopped, snow peas just past the vibrant green of already done, in a rich brown sauce. The dish smelled Chinese, but nothing that had arrived as take out.

"Snow Peas and Mushrooms; it doesn't have some other name?"

Helen shook her head, raising her eyes to Will, "Not one that I was told."

Will met her gaze, seeing something more in her eyes, a memory perhaps, and opened his mouth to fish when the microwave beeped in his ear, startling him enough he jumped.

Helen giggled, a light, dry giggle, but a giggle nonetheless as Will stepped away from where he'd thrown his hip painfully into the edge of the counter at the sudden high pitch in his ear, so he played up his pain and startle to amuse; it'd been far to infrequent, her smiles that hit her eyes, with out Ashley.

"I suppose that's another reason you don't approve of the microwave?" Will asked, rubbing his hip for show, opening the door, pulling out his bowl of neon mac and cheese and tilting his head to keep her gaze.

Giggle dissipated, smile relaxing, Helen turned off the burner, the dish fragrantly scenting the air with delicate ginger and soy sauce and richness of mushrooms and clashing with the Sousa-sized smell of Kraft marching over it, "You're the one who likes to use it; I think you deserve it and all its merits" Helen imparted.

She pulled open the cupboard, pulling out a round bowl in depression green glass, something Will would see in a museum but Helen didn't think twice of using to plate her dinner, piling in white rice from a bowl beside her, spilling out the mushrooms, peas and steaming sauce over it.

Will took out a fork for each of them, Helen turning to retreat to the fridge and pulling out a smaller bowl, this one full of wilted greens and carrots, and again in what Will supposed was a soy sauce. Helen ignored the offered fork, instead pulling out a spoon for herself and a pair of dark wood chop sticks.

"And what's that?" Will asked, diving his own fork into his bowl, taking a bite.

"Salad."

Will rolled his eyes at her, and found her smiling at him, a little smile, the usual smile she produced these days, one that was nice but perfunctory.

"I can see that, Doctor" Will led, teasing back.

"And how might you define your dish? At least I know the shape of every plant and how it became what I'm eating, but how, pray tell, do you define that?" Helen gestured with the dish she'd stuck the chop sticks into as she made her way past, walking towards the door.

"Macaroni Noodles with cheese?" Will offered.

"Cheese is not a powder in that unnatural color you mix with water, William" She schooled, backing away.

"Want to join me for Lunch? It'd be nice to have company." Will enticed, sweeping a hand toward the other half of the kitchen, a rustic wooden table that could seat ten comfortably.

"I think not. I have some papers I want to look over" Helen declined politely.

Will tilted his head at her. Helen was always available, but the little inroads Will felt he had been making, getting to know Helen as more than just a mentor and his boss, to know her as a friend, those little ways in had broken or become lost while Helen mourned Ashley - and he was worried she was isolating herself. "It's Saturday, you must be able take an hour away…"

Helen shook her head, and this smile was only perfunctory. Will could tell Helen's thoughts had already moved ahead. "Thank you Will, some other day."

Helen left Will, ignoring his concern. If she'd wanted to wallow in melancholy she'd eat her lunch in Ashley's room. Ashley's room had been emptied, the sentimental things Helen had wanted to keep, the things she could not bear to part with, those were stored safely away for the next ages until Helen thought she might bear to take them out again, but Helen would occasionally find herself in Ashley's room in the middle hours of the night, the hours when she could not keep herself from it, some nights gazing out on the breathtaking view over the river, other nights sinking to the floor in silent anguish illuminated in moonlight beaming thru so many windows.

No, Helen was in no mood to succumb to her grief over the death of her daughter just now. Helen leaned slightly forward, inhaling the aroma of her lunch as she transversed hallways. Snow Peas and Mushrooms. That was what June had called it.

"Helen? Do you like Mushrooms? I've got armfuls and I'm going to cook them for Supper" June's voice echoed out of Helen's memory.

Helen waited out the rumble of the lift, stepping out onto the floor just below the rising steeple in which Ashley had chosen a room. Helen walked to her door, gently opening and closing it, and moving thru the sitting room, right to her bedroom, and thru that to her den. The den had first been been Ashley's nursery, a room annexed from the next wing, its original doorway to the hall permanently and securely walled shut.

With Ashley's rebellion at age eight, her assertion of her independence to live in her own set of rooms, the nursery had become Helen's to indulge in, and Helen had found herself moving her private library into this room, her favorite set of chairs and settee, and her very favorite records and her best record player.

The room remained a cheery soft yellow, the yellow Big Foot and Bernie had painted it for Ashley's arrival into this world, both shooing a pregnant Helen far away from the ethers of the paint and setting up a small bastion of fans in the all the doorways aiming out various open windows. Helen had later added floor length navy velveteen napped curtains, after Ashely had the boys move out all her furniture, and now all that was left to tell this space had once belonged to a baby girl were holes in the ceiling from where a mobile had hung.

_nos must amito vivo an_.

Helen brushed this door closed too, it resting with in an inch of the jamb. She crossed the plush ivory carpet to the settee angled to take in the room and view outside at once, the same view at a lower altitude as the room Ashley had chosen for her own in the tower. It was a bright, sunny day, and Helen set her lunch on the low glass coffee table, the sunlight bouncing around the room, the walls echoing it happily, and light rippling thru the glass and over the wooden frame cradling it like the pane had been caught mid fling in it's array of steel branches.

Modern Art.

June had loved the piece on sight, its whimsy. Helen had bought it on a whim, a decade later, spotting it at a gallery on the opposite coast.

"Helen, it was just amazing. I think a group of them went out mushroom hunting, I've never seen so many types at once!" June had grinned that evening, decades ago, looking over the slight white lacquered table that still took up half the space of the tiny kitchen in the railcar long apartment.

June was wearing her black apron, one she'd cut and fashioned for herself, it's wide neck and length completely cloaking whatever it was June was wearing… but Helen glanced down and saw bare feet and pants.

Not men's pants, slim pants, pants June had fashioned for herself and a few of the more daring women who donned them on the ocean's shores on weekend trips on the Atlantic Coast.

Helen hung her overcoat on the hook, and let her bag and purse settle on the kitchen chair just inside the door June had placed there for just such a purpose.

"I don't mind mushrooms" Helen replied, further easing herself out of her suit coat and wiping the bottoms of her boots against the bristled matt. The fall had turned bitingly cold early and Helen's fingers felt stiff as she turned the buttons on her boots, easing them off.

"Go change and wash up. This'll be on the table inside of a song and a dance" June directed.

Boots off, Helen took her purse and bag with her to the sitting room, placing them on the floor beside June's long desk, the desk itself neatly organized with everything June needed as a seamstress, the far end supported by a stack of drawers in side of which rested fabrics and threads and trinkets June had picked up here and there.

A place for everything, and everything in its place; Helen thought. June's apartment always reminded Helen of a yacht in that way, and June herself it's unflappable captain, racing forward with yare. Helen started unfastening her overdress, feeling it loosen inch by inch, walking back to the narrow bedroom that took up the back end of the apartment, squeezed side by side to the narrow bath.

The bedroom was dominated by a huge, colorful copy of a Chagall, a double bed looking diminutive centered underneath. A long, narrow double chifforobe took up the shared wall between the bedroom and the sitting room, and, like the desk, this had been custom built and given to June by one of her younger brother's friends. June had teased Alfred had given the chifforobe as engagement present but her younger brother, Darren, had defended her honor for her and so no proposal ensued.

Helen was careful removing her dress, it stayed, dark, conservative, appropriate for her addressing academia. She was being carefully introduced as a representative of Oxford's Scientific Community and looking the part was reminding Helen of the more elaborate dresses women had been forced into durning the past century. Down to a simple slip and nickers, she carefully hung the dress and skirts in the far end, next to three other, stayed darkly colored elaborate dresses.

Chilling in her underclothes, Helen grabbed a navy dress that June had given her, a warm soft felt cut and sewn as a study of a Vionnet, pulling it over her head and sitting on the edge of the bed to peel off her stockings, stretch her toes, rubbing them in her hands in an effort to warm them.

"Helen! Supper's on!" June's voice rang thru the flat.

Helen glanced at herself in the long mirror propped in the corner of the room. Her hair was starting to come undone and she still wanted to wash the city off her face.

"I just want to wash" Helen called back, standing, her toes curling at the cold of the floor.

Two minuted laster, Helen was working on the pins holding back her hair, walking back thru the apartment to the kitchen, entering to find June standing at a partially opened window, the Kitchen over warm from cooking, smoking one of her black cigarettes languidly and watching Helen.

June stuck her cigarette in the corner of her mouth, waiving Helen near, "Let me. You won't taste the food if you're worried about your hair falling down."

Helen smiled, "You know me well."

June left her window, the rich cologne of burning tobacco moving with her, "I know women well. Sit, other wise you're too tall" June pulled out a chair for Helen, Helen sitting agreeably.

"I suppose we could both cut our hair to the current fashion?" Helen offered, relaxing as June's skillful fingers quickly moved over scalp, tucking, unpinning and re-pinning locks of blond curls, lifting the entire mass to fold it around the crown of Helen's head.

"While _tres chic_, I'd look too plain in a bob and my hair doesn't curl." June negated. Finishing her work, coming around to face Helen, June looked at her work with a critical eye, giving a sharp nod, "You, of course, would remain smashingly beautiful."

Helen considered June, picturing what she'd look like with her long, thick titian hair bobbed, a smile coming at the image she conjured.

June tapped her cigarette against a tin she kept on the table, using it to point at Helen as she took her seat across the table, "See. You're picturing it now. What do I look like, to you?"

"Like a flame" Helen shared, picking up her flatware, "Intense, Blue, hottest in the center, your eyes; then white heat capped in red, the coolest part of the flame, your hair a crown."

June gave a dry laugh, carefully pinching off her cherry, saving it for later, "And sticking out like if I was wired to a current; meanwhile you'd be a blond Lady Lindy; entirely unfair."

Helen watched June nimbly pick at her plate with the chopsticks, Helen spearing a mushroom with her fork, lifting it to taste as she glanced around the neatly kept kitchen.

"This is amazing" Helen complimented.

June nodded, "For two years we had a chinese family boarding with us. I picked some cooking up from them."

"I've yet to travel to the orient" Helen lamented.

June rolled her eyes, "And I've yet to go to France."

"_Ah, Pari_" Helen teased. "Wouldn't you rather visit London with me?"

"Of course, on our way to Paris" June smiled engagingly at Helen. "But I rather thought you were currently avoiding London; or, someone in London."

Imaginings of leading June thru Helen's favorite places in London dashed away in a drench of cold regret, "Yes. Well. Paris, then Rome; you can become the courutiere you're meant to be: the wealthy, famous and royal will be your patronage and you will keep me in fabulous dresses and invite me to the most exclusive dinners. It will be exquisite."

"You have a wild imagination, Helen."

Helen plucked at the dress she was wearing, "Just moving to New York could earn you a fortune. You certainly do well here."

June shook her head, "I couldn't leave Ma and Boyd. And, besides, you're here. If I were famous, in New York, we'd have never met."

"_Vous seriez trop occupe et célébré pour avoir le temps pour moi_." Helen baited. "I saw Boyd at the conference today" Helen added. "He is quite liked."

"You can't not like Boyd. He is brilliant and very kind." June agreed amiably of her beloved older brother.

Helen nodded, "He has some wonderful proof's he's working on, relating to Einstein's quantum theory."

June's eyes lit, "I don't suppose you brought any of this home?"

Helen smiled back, nodding, "of course. You are alway welcome to audit the classes, you know. There are _some_ women enrolled."

"One pays to go to college, college does not make payments to be attended" June summed succinctly, brushing past that fact with little care.

"A few are meeting on Saturday afternoon to continue the discussion. Ike is hosting it at his home. He asked me to invite you specifically."

June smiled around a mouthful, delicately pulling out her chop sticks, capturing another bite off the plate in them, "The usual disreputable gathering?"

Helen nodding, "I suppose so. Mr. Worth was careful to ask me outside of earshot of Dr. Billings and Mr. Pennington."

Saturday had the women rushing thru the icy rain to Ike Worth's door, June reaching up to bang the knocker vigorously, holding Helen close for warmth, Helen holding her own case under her coat.

A gentlemen opened the door, June pulling Helen in with her, pulling off her overcoat and hanging it on the wall beside the door, both wiping their feet on the carpet, "James! You're a dandy site. I'll bless you thrice if you say there's something hot to drink inside."

Helen, less familial, gave James her own smile of greeting, James's jovial grin for June turning charming for Helen, "Please excuse our June. Catholic mother, you see."

June batted at James, straitening her dress, something that showed her petite figure to advantage, the dusky purple warming her complexion, complementing her thick red hair she'd twisted up onto her crown, already walking for the conservatory. James extended his hand to hold Helen's case as she removed her own jacket, hanging her's beside June's while keeping her case in hand.

"The weather is quite a mess this fall, isn't it?" James offered,

"Quite" Helen agreed, smoothing her own dress, something simple and warm with a long skirt, long sleeves, and a drape of material over the shoulders that softened the neck line, Helen catching James watching as her hands smoothed the dress over her body.

"One of June's creations?" James noted, leading them forward in June's wake.

Helen nodded, "I plan to leave with an entirely new wardrobe."

James chuckled, "Well, if you must leave us, you'll leave well dressed. You should see what Sadie's in. I do believe Henry might be finally enticed to propose."

Helen nodded, "June insisted Sadie wear it. If that doesn't work, June's giving Sadie an evening dress, for the next time we go to the shows."

James leaned close, just before the doorway, his voice low and intimate as they both observed Sadie, a vision in russet, her black hair cunningly done, "I'm thrilled to imagine it."

Helen raised her eyes, meeting James', seeing his desire for her naked in his gaze, and she met his eyes with a her own cool gaze, "June does well by us".

James glanced across the room, June with a glass in her hand, greeting their friends, and then back to Helen. "June is a wonder, isn't she" he moved back congenially, gesturing for her to enter before him.

It wasn't like being with John, James, Nikola, and Nigel. While a slew of the present company were deeply entrenched in the physics and math, a handful were equally concerned with politics and culture, and deep discussions of all topics were being bandied around the room. Helen found it to be refreshing and very American, and, while June spent most of her time conversing about physics, she was just as quick to keep up with, at minimum, at least two other conversations.

"She has the eye of an artist and the mind of a railway magnate" Peter noted to Helen, his finger in the middle of the blackboard when the laughter for June, James, Harold and Mame cut across the room, momentarily interrupting him.

"Yes; pity she doesn't marry. There are only so many men who will take such a willful woman, and a doe-eyed docile companion is so much more attractive." George commented.

Helen cleared her throat but Peter spoke over her, "June needn't marry. I believe she'd nary lower herself to consent to any man as dull as you're implying" and then turned to Helen, "I'm sorry. I interrupted-"

Helen excused him with a shake of her head, "It's alright. Besides, I think your description rather apt."

Peter chuckled, "It's a good thing, too. I don't think Boyd has sense enough to button his coat, or even when to put one on..."

"Doesn't need it" George nodded at the equations covering the board, most of the work Boyd's.

Peter and Helen exchanged a look, laughter ringing out over the room again. Boyd arrived with Gordon, Hugh and Thomas; June, Mame and Harold tagging along as the four crossed the room, June solicitously fluttering around Boyd.

"We've been on campus" Hugh reported, the group gathering around the latest bit of work being spread out on the table.

"Gordon came up with a new puzzle" Thomas shared, all eyes eagerly moving across the papers to read it.

Boyd spaced out everything over the cradenza, a happy grin on his face, "It's quite fun, quite ingenious."

"Boyd had it in a nick. I didn't even realize what I had until Boyd had it solved" Gordon excused.

"But, still" Peter hmm, his fingers ticking against his thumb, his mind spinning away.

"Use this with the first set of proof's you've made, Boyd" June voiced, her sharp eyes surveying the entire mass of math on the table and board. Her direction incited a rush of hands and shuffling, three separate workbooks being produced, George erasing the board as Thomas handed over his copy of their work, chalk sliding over the slate as George copied it up, Boyd moving around the mass to stand closer to the board, Gordon's equations on the sheet of paper in his hand, taking up his own piece of chalk.

For the next minutes, the only things said were directions of what to put up, take down, as the entire format of the problem they were turning reformed, more complete, more elegant.

Boyd was left, tapping is piece of chalk against the blackboard, "Still, this doesn't reconcile. We're still not there."

"No" June agreed.

"But look at where we are" Mame noted, looking at Peter, then Boyd, "Can we take out the second piece? It's in the third and forth pieces, it's become superfluous…"

George rubbed it off the board, the group considering the new configuration.

"Bravo June" Thomas murmured.

Boyd glanced back at his sister, giving June an indulgent smile, then back to the math. "Yes, I can do more with this. I can…"

Helen wished Nikola were here, wondering what he'd see in the math; maybe she could send it to him, but as soon as that thought formed it was chased off by what Nicola would do next. James had written her that Nicola was talking of developing a super-weapon to distribute evenly to every country and therefore make an escalation of weapons untenable and so negate another war. Helen rather thought developing weaponry would simply lead to more vicious war-fare, though it was hard to imagine worse than what had enveloped Europe just a decade past.

The night ended with June making a large dinner for the family, Darren and his wife Edith both attending, Hugh tagging along with Boyd, and the Byrne Matriarch, Margaret, pleased to be with so many if a bit perpetually confused, the years stealing away her mind. Helen and Edith attended to the dishes as June settled her mother for bed, the men's voices rising and falling in chorus. It was late as Darren and Edith took their leave, Hugh finally leaving several minutes after them.

Helen stretched her fingers, pruned from the dishwater, drying them after washing up the final cups of coffee.

"Thank you."

Helen turned her head swiftly, not realizing she wasn't alone. Boyd had his hands in his pockets, leaning agains the doorway, his shirt wrinkled and untucked, sleeves pushed up. He lacked June's fierce red hair, his a strawberry blond, a light prickling of his beard shadowing his jaw.

Helen gave him a polite smile, "You're welcome."

"Rowan's in love with you."

Helen stilled, tilting her head, carefully placing the dish towel on the counter.

"_I have done one braver thing; Than all the worthies did, And yet a braver thence doth spring, Which is, to keep that hid._" Boyd recited.

"I do care for her deeply" Helen intimated.

Boyd shrugged, "I see that. And, with Ro, I've always kind of known, could never picture her with a husband. No woman cares nothing about men when cutting their trousers and she's got half the city's business - but the town knows me, and about Ma, and they see a woman busy supporting us. With her hair some of the worse pikers call her a Jewess."

"She does own her own mind."

Boyd shifted, pulling back a chair from the table, angling it to face Helen, sitting. "I can't approve or disapprove because nothing like this can ever be formal, but you're going to break her heart, whenever it is you're going back to London."

Helen shook her head in denial.

"_And if this love, though placed so From profane men you hide, Which will not faith on this bestow, Or if they do, deride, Then you have done a braver thing Than all the worthies did; And a braver thence will spring, Which is, to keep that hid._"

"Platonic Love" Helen named the poem.

Boyd nodded, "Ma loved the English poets, Donne in particular.

June bustled back thru the apartment, dispelling their tête-à-tête - "Ma's settled. She'll be asleep in minutes. Boyd, I put your papers back in the drawers so Ma can't get to them" June leaned down, pressing a kiss on his cheek.

"Good dinner, Rowan" Boyd kissed back, slinging an arm over her shoulder in a hug as he sat.

"I'm going to the market tomorrow, anything you want me to pick up?"

Boyd shook his head, June pushing down her sleeves, looking to Helen, "Ready?"

Helen looked to Boyd. The Byrne's all shared the same eyes, ice blue, but while June's tended to be sharp, inquiring, Boyd's eyes were quiet, contemplative, and Helen was surprised to find she wasn't as able to discern what lay in them as she'd thought.

"Ready" Helen confirmed.

Upstairs, in June's apartment, June opened and closed the door, locking it behind them, not bothering with the lights as she pulled Helen thru the apartment. "It's damn cold in here" June complained, leaving off in the sitting room, leaving Helen in the middle as she pulled out some matches and lit the kerosene lamps June kept carefully placed on the shelves. Then, from a nook of a shelf, June produced a bottle, "Put on music. Rick paid me in whisky and I intend us to enjoy it."

Helen watched June move in the soft warm light, June placing the bottle on her desk and head for the kitchen, the sound of cabinets and glassware clinking telling what June was up to. Helen moved to the desk, carefully examining the bottle. Prohibition seemed entirely ineffective. She carefully pulled off the cork stopper, the ethers immediate, stiff and sprite.

June returned, placing glasses on the desk, Helen obliging to pour as much as she thought she might stand into each glass.

"You haven't picked out music" June commented.

"No" Helen agreed.

June raised her glass, waiting for Helen to raise her own, "_A la danse avec vous, amour_" and tipped back her whisky, downing it with a breath of relief after.

Helen was more careful, but tipped her own glass quickly as the alcohol roasted every bud on her tongue, swallowing as it burned her throat and all the way down into her stomach, racing into her blood like a fire and pinching nerves in the back of her neck. Helen lowered her head, finding June already pouring herself a second glass.

"Why does every one call you June?" Helen offered her glass for a refill.

"I was little and I didn't like us being so Irish, I was teased horribly for my accent, for my hair, for being so small..."

"You sound very Bostonian, now" Helen assured, June shrugging, slowly sipping at her glass.

"There was this very pretty girl, plump with dimples every where and very well respected on the street where we used to live. She was at least seven, and I over heard her one day talking about a story and the heroine's name was June and how much she admired June. I marched home and announced I wanted to be called June, and when I went to school I told every one my name was June, and the teachers all thought so for at least a month. Ma had a fit once she put it all together."

"I think I would have liked to have seen that" Helen chuckled, accepting as June pressed her whisky into Helen's hand.

June carefully lifted up the glass protecting the kerosene flame, pulling a cigarette out of nowhere, carefully bending close to the wick to light it before replacing the glass as she held the cigarette away with her spare hand, bringing it to her mouth for a breath once all was back in place.

"I'm nervous to give you back your glass. The alcohol in this, you might go up too."

June shook her head, "You already said I'm a flame, with my hair" She took her glass in the same hand that held the cigarette, two fingers for the black cigarette, thumb and ring finger steadying the glass, pinky raised, and moved over the center of the room, pulling Helen with her.

"Let's just pretend there's music" June asked, wrapping her free arm around Helen's waist, bringing Helen close. Helen threw back the rest of her whisky, it going down easier the second time, using her reach to place her glass out of the way.

Helen was used to being tall, but the men she danced with had all been at least her height. June held Helen close, Helen holding June with an arm around the waist, an arm around the shoulder, and June still leading with a delicate sway even as she was half a head shorter that Helen.

June leaded back enough just to sip her whisky, taking a breath of her cigarette as a chaser, and turned back to Helen, humming softly off key to their dancing. It took a few bars before Helen could recognize what it was June was humming to her. …_Blue skies, nothing but blue skies, is all I see..._

Helen let her eyes fall closed, and let June lead, leaning into June as she felt June finish her own glass, set it aside, and raise her hand to reach Helen's shoulder.

Helen had met June her first night in Boston, at Harvard. Helen had been waiting for a car to come and gather her, and June had been waiting for Boyd, and June had struck up a conversation - about the lecture Helen had just presented.

Boyd had ducked his head out, "I'm staying for a bit, there's-" and June had waived her hand at him, "Go" and he'd ducked back inside the auditorium. June had turned to Helen, "My brother is now set for the evening. How about we see to you?" and Helen had smiled tiredly.

"I don't think my car is coming."

"Where are you booked?" June asked.

"The Vendome."

"Aren't you swell?" June stood, and with in the hour had Helen's things settled in a room and them at a table in the restaurant on the main floor. June had lead Helen in a gentle romance, expertly guiding Helen closer, and, one afternoon, in the back of June's shop, June had taken Helen's hand, looked in her eyes, and leaned in, and Helen and allowed it. The first kiss had been soft, a brush of lips, and the second, Helen had opened herself up.

_Blue skies, nothing but blue skies… Blue skies is all I see…_ June hummed.

"I think Boyd gave his blessing, tonight" Helen murmured.

June continued her humming, pulling Helen in closer, Helen pulling June closer.

"Did you hear?" Helen asked, after a moment, and June nodded against Helen's shoulder with out breaking into the tune. The pair remained dancing in the dark apartment, pressed together, to just the sound of June's humming.

Helen lifted her last bite of salad to her mouth, crunching thru the carrot and cabbage, remembering June. June had loved her, and Helen had cared deeply for June in return, but it was less than half a year later Helen received the news that had led her to the west coast, James joining her, selling her that she needed to form a second sanctuary: this sanctuary.

James had said something to her when they'd met up on the other side of the world from London, something that had stayed with Helen thru the ages. She'd arrived by train and he'd been waiting for her on the platform in Old Town. He'd smiled and offered a hand to take her case but Helen had refused with a slight shake of her head, leaning to kiss cheeks, "James, how good to see you."

"Helen" He greeted, and then stood back, Helen waiving to a porter, paying him for bringing her luggage to the hired car James had left waiting in a prime spot. "Helen, America has done terrible things to you-"

She gave him a sharp look, and he laughed, "You're becoming like them. Next I know, you'll be up in the sky with that Earhart woman!"

She gave her own bright smile, remembering her first piloting lesson, "Not her, James. Miss Cochran was teaching me. She's given me some names whom I can contact on this coast."

"And will you be the first woman flying over the Pacific?" He teased.

"I rather think Amelia will achieve it first. She did rather brilliantly crossing the Atlantic last month."

James hummed, and Helen could hear his dislike of the idea of her flying; so unlike June.

WIth James' tone, Helen straightened, smiling. This surprised James, and he'd rocked back on his heels, taking her in, and Helen waited out his survey.

"Helen, we've finally lost you. The Five is well and truly disbanded …"

"You'll never loose me, James."

He shook his head, "I don't believe you" and his lifted his finger, shanking it at her, "but I applaud it." His survey over, he came, moving shoulder to shoulder with her, escorting her to the car. "I quite enjoy thinking of the next time you run into Nikola."

"He still about?"

James nodded, "Somewhere. There are things are stirring in Europe. I fear it all might turn into quite the mess. It's that damned treaty of Versailles."

Helen set down the empty bowl of salad. James had been correct, that day, back in 1932. Eye of an artist and mind of a railway magnate indeed; Helen doubted she would have been so bold to fashion the makings of her Sanctuary into what was today if she had not known June.

Meal done, Helen reached behind her, taking a sheaf of papers. Intelligence inside was on an elusive creature someone had begun to call Big Bertha. It was an awful moniker but it had stuck. Helen turned her mind to the present, carefully considering the information with in.

Bertha was something big; bigger, Helen suspected, than the known world. Bertha was truly ancient, her symbiosis with the life on this planet, with abnormals, unknown; and, like much unknown, several were arguing for its elimination. Helen turned over possibilities, if she left Bertha alone, if she trapped Bertha, if Bertha died, if Bertha was killed, what would happen to her, to the Sanctuary, to the planet, to life as they recognized it…

Helen closed the folder, what she'd read still running around in her thoughts, and replaced the folder on the glass table. June was the first woman Helen had been with, not the last, but Helen had no doubt June had been deeply in love with her. The other women had been dalliances, promiscuous, intense, where conversation had led to bed and Helen had keened for the particular flavor of intimacy of a woman, and each time she was left satisfied but cold.

Helen had left June. Helen had waited until her rail tickets were purchased, until she was sure she needed to meet James across the continent and until she was certain it was necessary to remake her father's legacy in her own image, before she'd told a soul in Boston she was leaving. She'd told June first, and June hadn't smiled for her like the rest would, no bittersweet smile, or happy smile, or encouraging smile. No, June had simply given Helen a look, a look of sympathy, "Of course you are Helen." And then Helen had cried.

Helen stood up, walking to the window, looking out over the bright day, the new city rising across the river, the glass catching and throwing back and forth the light, a glass city of light.

_nos must amito vivo an._

Boyd sent Helen June's cigarette case on June's death, a startling year after she'd left June. Helen had had it engraved, filling it with a dozen black cigarette papers inside and a small pouch of turkish tobacco to give to June for Christmas in '31. June had given Helen a book. _Mrs. Dalloway_ and the empty cigarette case both rested on the shelves in this room, and, on occasion, Helen would clip open the tin and breath in the lingering smell of tobacco.

A dull knock on the outermost door sounded thru Helen's room's.

"Come in" Helen called out, expecting William.

Will tapped on the inner door to the den as he pushed it open, "Sorry to interrupt Magnus- the Big Guy's hauled something into the SHU and wants you for processing."

Helen nodded, gathering her dishes, leaving as Will held the doors for her.

"How went the paperwork?" he asked.

"It wasn't as pressing as I thought" Helen caged, already decided she'd set out later tonight to make the arrangements she wanted in total secrecy. "What's he brought home?" she re-directed.

Will grinned, "I think it's a Beozar. I had no idea they actually existed…"

"Ah… Yes. Though I'm surprised it's all the way up here."

"You've come across one before, I take it?" William hit the call button on the elevator, the lift smoothly rumbling into action behind the door.

Helen smiled slightly, giving him an indulgent look she knew annoyed him, and, button pushed, he rolled his eyes at her, sighing, "You're Dr. Helen Magnus, you've come across everything in the known world and the unknown world."

The elevator come, door opening for them, and they stepped inside, Will pushing the button for the level the SHU was on before folding his arm and looking back over his shoulder at her. She thought he was about to say something, but nothing came. Helen tilted her head, but he simply closed his mouth, turning forward again.

"What is it?"

He glanced back at her, and then forward, smiling.

"Will?"

"You're smiling."


End file.
